


A Minion Arrives in Starkfield

by jean_tresjean



Series: Mattie Silver, Minion [1]
Category: Ethan Frome - Edith Wharton, Minions (2015)
Genre: Ethan Frome/Minions crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jean_tresjean/pseuds/jean_tresjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having lost his job with Gru, Matt seeks employment with his cousin Zenobia (they are related on their mother's side). We all now how it ends...but what was it like when Ethan met Matt for the first time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Luk at tu suis ami

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Ollie, my inspiration. You've been begging me to write this, so I kind of had to. 
> 
> Also I didn't check this or have anyone else read it. I have a Spanish test in the morning and I think writing this might have actually killed some of my much needed brain cells.

Wind whistled across the barren, snow covered valley and whipped up a small, stinging flurry of frost. The snow from last night’s storm crunched horribly under Ethan’s stead pace, punctuated occasionally by the snap of a twig underfoot. Morning was breaking and it lit the countryside with an awful glare that would soon melt the snow, leaving everything a slopping, muddy mess. Earlier, when it was still dark out, Ethan had risen quietly, dressed, and slipped past the separate room his wife Zenobia slept in without making a sound. Then, he had gone to the saw mill, where he had done some repairs that needed doing: oiling the machinery, inspecting the gears. Ethan operated his saw mill with all of the strength, vigor and efficiency that he did not put in to his marriage. In his ecstasy, he gently caressed the two, round, firm mill stones with his calloused hands. However, today his work day was split uncharacteristically.

As he walked, he had become absorbed, imagining the physical labor he had in front of him. He passed through the town without taking in his surroundings. Here, the buildings were stone. Gray slabs made up sidewalks for the houses of the richest folks, such as the Eady’s. Everywhere else, pedestrians and carriages shared the road, which was also a gutter. He would not have come here willingly (he would rather be working) but Zenobia’s cousin was coming in on the train, and it was Ethan’s job to pick him up. He abhorred the thought of having a second Zenobia around the house but they needed the help. Besides, Zenobia’s cousin needed a place to stay, after having lost his last job. Though Ethan didn’t quite understand the circumstances, it sounded as if there had been some sort of tiff with a bad boss.  
In the distance, a spec appeared on the horizon, moving quickly down the railroad tracks. Soon, billowing smoke filled the station as the train arrived. Ethan fantasized about the manual labor involved in keeping up a train, following the tracks west…but no. He would never strike out on his own. His eyes scanned the station for a younger version of Zenobia complete with her sharp nose and wicked eye. 

“Bello?” There was a tug at Ethan’s pants and he turned around. There was no one standing where he expects to see someone at eye level however so he looked down. A small man stood at about the height of Ethan’s waist. 

Ethan paused, looking around the station, to see if perhaps a mother was looking for her child. But no, the little yellow man in the red goggles seemed quite alone. “Ummm..Hello,” Ethan stammered. He shook the little man’s little three fingered hand. “You must be Matt.”  
Matt beamed at Ethan. “Banana!” he exclaimed. Although it was an unfamiliar expression, Ethan found himself smiling back, involuntarily. To any passerby, the expression must have looked pained and unnatural. After all, it was a small town and people were aware of Ethan’s somber disposition. However, Ethan felt like Matt wasn’t judging him in the slightest. 

“I suppose we had better get walking back,” Ethan said. He regretted that he had not brought the carriage, because Matt’s legs were much shorter than Ethan had been expecting. However, Ethan quickly learned that this did not deter Matt in the slightest. In fact, he quite made up for it, with his jumping and other antics, and often found himself tumbling through the snow, leaps and bounds ahead of Ethan. The stout man laughed occasionally. Ethan enjoyed watching Matt because he exuded a youthful vitality. Besides, his frequent fits of giggles were somewhat contagious. 

“Well! You’re back.” The commanding yet stricken voice, like a crack of lightening, caught their attention. 

Matt looking to Ethan for an explanation. “Poppadom?” he asked.

“That would be Zenobia. The mistress of the house,” he said solemnly. She was waiting for them inside to avoid the cold, with the door just open enough to peak out and yell when she saw them approaching. There had been a time when she used to sit out on the porch, tending her cucumber garden with the same vigor that Ethan applied to his work, but now the chill made her bones ache. She rarely left the house and only the withered cucumber vine remained. “You’ll have to clean the house the way she likes it. You’ll have to listen to her.” Matt opened his bag and showed Ethan the contents: a few dozen identical French maid outfits. He had come prepared. But none of them could have been prepared, for what was coming next…

“Well well well.” Zenobia looked Matt over carefully. They had the same thin, black hair but that was where the resemblance stopped. “You must be Matt.”

“Matt,” said Matt. 

“Indeed.” Zenobia pursed her already thin lips together. “I suppose I had better show you around the house,” she said coldly. “I will tell you what your chores will be and I will show you your room.”

“Pwede na!” Matt said enthusiastically. “Ya ya ya ya!” 

The house wasn’t much, but it had been in the Frome family for generations. The wood was worn and the walls were thick with paint. It needed considerable up keep; more than Ethan had time in the day or Zenobia had energy to provide. 

“Here is where we keep the things to be laundered,” Zenobia pointed out. Matt hid a giggle from Zenobia and stuck his tongue out at Ethan. What did this mean? Ethan frowned. 

“Here is where we keep the dishes,” Zenobia said. Matt nodded obediently, muttering “ba ba ba!” occasionally to show that he was listening. Again, however, he turned to Ethan and stuck out his tongue when Zenobia wasn’t listening. There was a mischievous glint in his red goggle clad eyes. Tentatively, Ethan stuck his tongue out between his lips. His moustache bristled. 

“This is my prized pickle dish.” Zenobia pointed to the red dish on the high shelf. There had been a time, early in their marriage, when Zenobia would prepare Ethan all his favorite foods- carrots and bagels, pickles and donuts, the works- and serve it to him on this dish. But as she grew older, she became more conservative with its usage. She paused a second, contemplating the dish, then glanced at Ethan. “Banana,” Matt whispered knowingly to Ethan. Ethan was confused. 

“I have to get back to the mill,” he said to Matt, more than to his wife. 

“Poopaye,” said Matt sagely. 

“I will save you some stew for dinner,” said Zenobia. 

As Ethan walked to the mill, past the L shaped house, Matt’s smile stuck in his head. The little red goggles were so cute. He closed his eyes and focused on the way the wing bit his cheeks and the way his belt chaffed his side. It wasn’t enough though to make him forget the way that Matt has whispered…Banana. There was nothing like directing logs into the mill to clear one’s mind. It provided a release like no other. Beads of sweat rolled down Ethan’s forehead like tears down a baby’s soft cheeks. He applied himself diligently to his labor. His muscles bulged and strained. Zenobia was probably overseeing Matt right now as he did his chores…Maybe Ethan would bring Matt down to the mill one day, to show the little yellow man what it was that he did all day. Matt wouldn’t be much help, what with him being tiny with stick like arms, but he might like it all the same. Maybe, in time, he could learn to like Ethan even, and see him as a friend. They would talk together. Maybe even go out for drinks together…No, thought Ethan. It could never be. Although he was terrified of being alone, Ethan knew that it was his fate to be isolated even when people were around. Besides, Matt was from the city. He had worked in the big factories. He was still smol and pure, but how could he ever befriend someone as uncultured as Ethan? Ethan would never find tru happiness. He sighed and tears rolled down his soft cheeks and mingled with his sweat. It was never meant to be…

Night fell and he walked home in silence. His body ached. In the distance, a hawk flying overhead spotted a field mouse scampering over the ground and went for the kill. The sky was dark and more clouds were rolling in. Even the lights from the house were out. Ethan realized that he must have worked much longer than he intended to. But what was time out here? Ethan knew that things were changing rapidly in the world, but in Starkfield, time was nothing to him.

As Ethan neared the porch, he saw a glint. It was the moon reflecting off of Matt’s googled. The yellow man was sitting there waiting for him. 

“Hello Matt,” said Ethan. “You didn’t have to wait up for me. It’s cold out. That’s the way it is here. If you spend too much time out here you might turn blue…or, er some other color. I don’t really know how that would work.”

“Buttom frio” confirmed Matt. He stood and held out a warm mug of cider to Ethan. “Para tu.” 

Tears weld in Ethan’s eyes. His large hands covered Matt’s smaller, gloved hand as he took the cup. Their hands lingered momentarily. He didn’t know what to say to this act of kindness. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all. Although Ethan was sure that Zenobia was sleeping, he didn’t want her to hear what he said next, so he leaned close and whispered, the word dripping from his chapped lips: “Banana.” 

Matt smiled.


	2. Po ka La boda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things become more intense as Mattie and Ethan's attraction grows stronger...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 4got to say, I don't really know how old minions are but Matt is able to consent and everything that happens is 100% consensual, even though nothing sinful happens in this chapter, I just wanted to put it out there.
> 
> I do not own Minions and I'm pretty sure Ethan Frome is in the public domain.

As days passed, dust settled progressively: dislodged from the wood, bits of skin scuffed off here and there, the hair from the cat. It was grainy, gray, and aggravated Zeena’s rheumatism. It settled on the red pickle dish and you could have cut it with a knife, and counted the layers like rings on a tree to count the passage of time. The first layer would be tinged yellow, marking the arrival of Matt in Starsfield several months before. Although he was meant to be cleaning, many things were out of his reach, so all things above three feet went uncleaned. The next layer was a dusting of flour, from when Matt had attempted to make the crust for a meat pie. Unfortunately, he had spilled the dry ingredients and they coated the room in a white powder that almost matched the snow outside. Although Matt worked diligently, he just wasn’t very good. Zenobia’s health seemed to be doing worse. Ethan couldn’t understand why. It was the thought that counted, wasn’t it? And Mattie (as Ethan had taken to calling him privately) was trying. 

There was one thing that Mattie was very good at. On the porch, where before Zenobia had planted cucumbers, Mattie had begun a strange garden of yellow, baton like fruit. They grew prosperously, despite the bitter winter. Often, when Ethan was returning home from work, he could see yellow buds protruding from the snow. Some were the fruit, and one was Mattie, tending to his precious garden.

“Why, you’ve got a veritable green thumb Mattie!” said Ethan, one afternoon. Zenobia had slipped on the floor, which was wet because Matt had abandoned mopping midway through the job. Zenobia really was a mess, Ethan thought. She was in bed which meant that Ethan had time to talk to Matt. He had even come home a bit early so that they would have some time together.

Matt gave Ethan a confused look and turned away. Ethan saw that he was removing his glove and even glimpsed his small, pale yellow hand. Mattie was inspecting his hand, looking to see if it was green. Ethan blushed, sure that Matt hadn’t meant for him to see.   
“Well, I suppose that you don’t really have thumbs,” he corrected himself. “It’s just an expression.”

Luckily, Matt accepted this explanation and put his glove on just as Zenobia opened the door. Instead of her usual khaki wrapper and knitted shoes, she wore her best dress of brown burlap, and above her thin strands of hair a hard perpendicular bonnet with the stylized “G” that Ethan had bought her at the Gruburg Emporium of Evil and which Matt proclaimed to be “Bananonina.” Ethan secretly agreed. 

"Why, where are you going, Zeena?" he exclaimed.

"It’s too dusty here, and I’ve got a bump on my hip from my fall earlier. I’m going to the doctors in Gruburg," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. 

In spite of her sedentary habits such abrupt decisions were not without precedent in Zeena's history. Twice or thrice before she had suddenly packed Ethan's valise and started off to Gruburg, or even Fresno, to try and find a solution to her ailments. Because she was in chronic pain, she was willing to try many different solutions, even if they seemed far-fetched. How silly to want to feel comfortable, thought Ethan.

She continued plaintively; "Matt’s stumpy little limbs don’t permit him to drive the carriage so I will have Jotham drive me." Jotham was the hunk who sometimes worked for Ethan.

However, Ethan hardly cared what Zenobia did with Jotham the hunk. In fact, he hardly heard what she was saying. During the winter months there was no stage between Starkfield and Gruburg, and the trains were slow and infrequent. A rapid calculation showed Ethan that Zeena could not be back at the farm before the following evening....His eyes drifted to Matt. He couldn’t help but fixate on those red glasses, that soft skin. With an effort he turned his eyes to his wife.

“Yes, I think you had better go,” Ethan said dumbly. He tried to say something befitting the occasion, but there was only one thought in his mind: the fact that, for the first time since Mattie had come to live with them, Zeena was to be away for a night. He wondered if the minion were thinking of it too....


	3. Ditto Butt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan and Mattie enjoy a meal together but will they ever enjoy more?

Though outside the wind rattled, inside, it was warm and calm. Ethan had handmade small, yellow tallow candles, which he had carved into Matt’s likeness. He had hidden them from Zenobia and brought them out for the occasion. He contemplated the Matt’s calm. Owing to a life time of trouble, Ethan was usually uncomfortable with silence. In the early days, Zenobia had comforted him. Zeena seemed to understand his case at a glance. The mere fact of obeying her orders, of feeling free to go about his business again and talk with other men, restored his shaken balance and magnified his sense of what he owed her. In those days, he had enjoyed taking orders from her.  
However, it seemed that she was not an inexhaustible source of verses. Then she too fell silent. Perhaps it was the inevitable effect of life on the farm, or perhaps, as she sometimes said, it was because Ethan "never listened.” He wondered if Zeena were also turning "queer." Women did, he knew. That would explain why their marriage no longer had the same spark. 

Mattie on the other hand…Mattie filled Ethan’s ears with joyful noise. He had never expected the voice of an angle to be so squeaky or so nonsensical. Ethan observed Matt as he prepared dinner. The little man was singing to himself and doing a little booty wiggle dance. It was a dance of vitality and life, thought Ethan. Zenobia could hardly walk in a straight line (because of her chronic illness, but was that really an excuse?) How could she provide this kind of vivacity that Ethan so desperately craved? 

“Mattie?” Ethan said suddenly. 

He spun around, candle in hand and the light flickered, almost going out. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that Ethan’s manly, commanding voice startled him. The candle cast a gentle light on his slim wrists. Then, striking upward, it threw a lustrous fleck on his plump lips, edged his eyes with velvet shade, and laid a creamy yellowness above the red curve of his goggles.

He wore his usual maid outfit, and there was no bonnet on his head; but his glasses had been shinned and he had painting on finger-like flickering flames with acrylic craft paint. This tribute to the unusual transformed and glorified him. He seemed to Ethan taller (marginally), fuller, more bean-like in shape and motion. 

Ethan cleared his throat. “Is, uh, is dinner going to be ready soon? Seems like you got distracted with your dancing.” 

“Stupa la boda,” said Mattie under his breath. He seemed to be whispering evilly to himself. Maybe it was a trait he had picked up at his old job. 

“What was that?” asked Ethan.

Mattie smiled innocently and hurried along, putting the food into dishes and onto the table. He had even gotten down the red pickle dish when Ethan wasn’t looking, and placed it on the table. Also on the table was a bunch of Matt’s home grown bananas (as Ethan had learned to call them) and bunt cake (or “Buuttkuchen“ as Matt called it.) 

Ethan was suffocated with the sense of well-being. Mattie had set the juice boxes on the table and the hamster was rubbing Matt’s ankles.  
" Bi-do Baboi," Matt cried, as he nearly tripped over ham and his laughter sparkled through her lashes.  
Ethan felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. 

“Zenobia wouldn’t like you touching her pet!” snapped Ethan. His instant regret flooded him like ice water in his blood stream. The name threw a chill between them, and they stood a moment looking sideways at each other before Mattie said with a shy laugh: " Butt a Chasy. Me want banana."

They drew their seats up to the table, and ham, unbidden, jumped between them into Zeena's empty chair. " Kampai!" said Mattie, and they laughed again.

Ethan, a moment earlier, had felt himself on the brink of eloquence; but the mention of Zeena had paralysed him. Mattie seemed to feel the contagion of his embarrassment, and sat with downcast lids, sipping his juice box. At last, after casting about for an effective opening, Ethan took a long gulp of tea, cleared his throat, and said: "Looks as if there'd be more snow."  
Mattie feigned great interest, his eyes widening even more than they naturally were. "Underwear! Stupa Zeena?”

“Well, I don’t know if it'll interfere with Zeena's getting back." Mattie was flushed red as he realized how inappropriate the question that had escaped him was. He hastily set down the cup he was lifting.

Ethan reached over for another helping of bananas. "You never can tell, this time of year, it drifts so bad on the Flats." The name had benumbed him again, and once more he felt as if Zeena were in the room between them.

"Luk at tu ham!" Mattie cried.

The hamster, unnoticed, had crept up on muffled feetsies from Zeena's seat to the table, and was stealthily elongating their body in the direction of the juice box, which stood between Ethan and Mattie. The two leaned forward at the same moment and their hands met on the straw. Mattie's hand was underneath, and Ethan kept his clasped on it a moment longer than was necessary. The hamster, profiting by this unusual demonstration, tried to effect an unnoticed retreat, and in doing so backed into the pickle-dish, which fell to the floor with a crash.

Mattie, in an instant, had sprung from his chair and was down on his knees by the fragments, crying hysterically.

Ethan felt as if every one of Matt’s tears were pouring over him like burning lead. "Don't, Matt, don't—oh, don't!" he implored the small yellow man. He longed to reach out, pick Matt up and cradle him in his arms. He would, in his fantasy, lift the goggles from Matt’s face as they filled with tears and he would empty them out. Then, they would finally see eye to eye, with no barrier between them. He would be able to see if Matt had eye lashes, and if he did, Ethan would give him butterfly kisses. 

But Ethan did not reach out to comfort Matt. Matt struggled to his feet. Ethan was determined not to let it ruin their evening and hid the pieces away, to be taped back together later. He would send Mattie out for a fine role of scotch tape. No one would be able to tell the difference. 

The rest of their meal was peaceful. Ethan ate heartily. Even Matt, upset though he was could not resist the bananas. He sniffled sadly from time to time, but always gave Ethan a reassuring smile. 

They finished supper, and while Mattie cleared the table Ethan went to look at the cows and then took a last turn about the house. The earth lay dark under a muffled sky and the air was so still that now and then he heard a lump of snow come thumping down from a tree far off on the edge of the wood-lot.

When he returned to the kitchen Mattie had pushed up Ethan’s chair to the stove and seated himself on a small stool with a bit of banana peeling. The scene was just as Ethan had dreamed of it that morning: he was sitting down with his fun dip lik-a-stix™ in his hand, stretching his feet to the glow of the fire while Matt was lovingly peeling bananas. The only drawback to his complete well-being was the fact that he could not see Mattie because Mattie was so low to the ground; but Ethan was too indolent to tilt his head and after a moment he said: "Why don’t you stack some of those yellow pages and sit a little higher."

Mattie rose obediently, fetched the phonebooks and boosted himself up on them, grunting slightly. He was now at eye level with Ethan but when their gazes crossed, Ethan had a momentary shock. He saw, for a brief moment, Mattie’s body. However, instead of Mattie’s large, round minion eyes and childlike, innocent smile, he the saw the sharp features of his wife. The spell was broken when Mattie stuck out his tongue. It was the same face that had so charmed and confused Ethan the first time that he saw it. 

Deep quiet sank on the room, excepting the constant stream of raspberries that Mattie blew, his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. The clock ticked above the dresser, a piece of charred wood fell now and then in the stove, and the faint sharp scent of Suave two in one berry fresh children’s shampoo and conditioner™ with the odour of Ethan's grape fun dip.

The silence between then was palpable, full of things left unsaid. They didn’t need a common language, but it would have helped. Ethan longed to speak plainly with Mattie, but although Mattie spoke mainly in monosyllables, Ethan felt that Mattie had very standards, and wouldn’t settle. Besides, thought Ethan, he didn’t even know if Mattie was…Gay. 

Ethan’s tongue was thick in his mouth, like a baby who hasn’t yet grown in to their fat tongue. His inner turmoil was beginning to surpass the turmoil of the storm outside. It was true that Mattie was from Grusburg, a big city, and people did tend to be more liberal in the big city, but what if Mattie wasn’t in favor of Gay marriage? Did Mattie even know what a bear was? 

Beautiful, innocent Mattie had not idea of the piquant questions that buzzed in Ethan’s brain. Matt had taken an exceptionally large banana from the bunch and was slowly, carefully pealing it. The peel reached down to the floor, and lay across the ground at Ethan’s foot.  
His expression was so sweet that Ethan took the fun-dip from his mouth and leaned down to the ground. He touched the farther end of the banana peel he was peeling. "Say, Matt," he began with a smile, "what do you think of Lady Gaga’s new music video?"

The words had been on his tongue all the evening, but now that he had spoken them they struck him as inexpressibly vulgar and out of place.

Mattie blushed orange to the roots of his hair and pulled at the peel with more intensity than he intended, insensibly drawing the end of it away from him. "Tulaliloo Gaga amo tu," he said in a low voice, as though Ethan had suddenly touched on something grave.  
Ethan had imagined that his allusion might open the way to the accepted pleasantries, and these perhaps in turn to a harmless karaoke session, if only a mere hum of “Bad Romance.” 

“Gaga." Mattie pronounced the word as if his voice caressed it. He hadn’t heard of the name before, but he liked the sound of it. He bit his lip and glanced up at Ethan. “Gaga. Woof woof.” He dropped the banana and ran his fingers through his hair, sensually. Ethan stared in shock. Was Matt…coming on to him? Did he just speak in bear code? And that was when Ethan saw it, how could he have missed it before? In the pocket of Mattie’s apron, what Ethan had thought was a dish rag was actually a gold lame hanky! Gold lame? That was at least a level 7 Gay. Panic constricted Ethan’s throat and his body tensed. He was in over his head. 

"Oh, no—don't let's think about it, Matt!" Ethan managed to cry out. “Don’t let’s think about Gaga. I’m not even that big of a fan.”

If Mattie had had an eyebrow, he would have raised it. However, he seemed to accept Ethan’s change of heart. "Bee doo bee doo?" he asked in a low voice.

“I-I’ll check,” said Ethan.

He opened the door of the stove and poked aimlessly at the embers. When he raised himself again he saw that Mattie had put away his banana and his phonebooks. Then he recrossed the floor and lifted two of the hemp pots in his arms, moving them away from the cold window. Ethan followed him and brought the other plants.

When these nightly dooties were performed there was nothing left to do but to bring in the artfully crafted, but now creepily melted Mattie shaped candlestick from the passage and blow out the lamp. Trembling with embarrassment, Ethan put the candlestick in Mattie's hand and Matt went out of the kitchen ahead of him, the light that Matt carried before him making his skin look like the cheese moon.

"Err, good night, Matt," he said as Matt put his foot on the seventh or so step of the stairs. Once again they were eye level. 

He turned and looked at Ethan a moment. He leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pressed his soft lips to Ethan’s forehead.

"Poopaye nuit, Muak " he answered in a whisper. "Poopaye nuit, Muak."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in the end (and this is the end) the love you make, is equal to the love you make.
> 
> Leaving this open to interpretation...maybe they never speak of this intimate moment again and remain great bros. Maybe Gru forgives Matt for whatever it was that got him fired and Matt and Ethan go to Grusburg together? Or maybe just Matt goes? Or maybe you're a Wharton purist and Ethan and Matt decide to go sledding together. It's up to you.
> 
> p.s. gold lame in hanky code is seeking muscleboy bottom or top, you decide.


End file.
